


Blood of Thanalan

by YakFruit



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakFruit/pseuds/YakFruit
Summary: While adventuring in Thanalan, a white mage encounters an unusual tribe of amalj'aa.  And one of the tribe members is a stunningly fierce miqo'te woman. After the chance encounter, the Warrior of Light is sent back to pursue a possible solution to Ifrit.





	1. Chapter 1

Merek Palpeltesh liked the heat of the Thanalan sun. It simmered on the outside of his white robe, creating a pleasantly sweltering feeling on the inside. His body was just on the verge of sweating, and that tingling warmth all over his skin gave him a sort of perverse pleasure. He wasn’t a fan of sweat, however. It was a perilous line to walk- almost sweating and sweating profusely. So he moved slowly through the sun-drenched scabland, his broad-brimmed white hat casting a circular shadow before him. 

Behind him to the west, like the sun, was the sheltered community of Little Ala Mhigo. A system of caverns and caves which protected a refugee immigrant population within the greater sultanate of Ul’dah. There Merek was informed of an amalj’aa attack on a trade wagon, so he’d set off in the hopes of finding survivors. 

Merek was known by the common folk as a ‘white mage.’ He assumed that was because, in the mind of a layman, additive life magics were miracle forces of healing, thus ‘white magic’. The technicalities were much more complicated, of course, but if at the end of the road he was healing wounds, then what did it really matter? White mage was as good a name as any.

‘Oh, Mr. White Mage, please go see if you can save anyone from the brutal beastmen!’ 

So easily did he allow himself to be drawn away from comfort and safety for this sort of thing. He could be back in Gridania, drinking ale and fishing off the tavern porch. 

But then someone had said: ‘oh, Mr. White Mage, I need something from the woods,’ 

And Merek had thought- well, he could use some ale money... Then one thing leads to another, one foot steps in front of the other, and Merek Palpeltesh, a bookishly thin hyur of Gridania now found himself on the other side of Eorzea looking for people who may, or may not have been, speared by reptile men. 

Such was life. Maybe he should be more assertive and say no from time to time. But if Merek said no… who would go? If he could save a life- well… he would not be able to forgive himself if he didn’t. So under the threat of anticipated guilt, Merek once again found himself with sure danger ahead and sure safety behind.

His meditative pace broke. Merek raised his head to search his surroundings. He’d heard something, but he was unsure what. Dry brush and reddish soil spread out in every direction, bordered by rocky bare outcroppings. It was amazing that anything lived out here, but for all its arid expanse, Thanalan was dotted with springs, pools, and rivers- plentiful oasis for vegetation and life. And primitive society in the form of the amalj’aa reptile men. 

There it was again. Yelling. A faint metallic clanging. A battle! Merek oriented on the sound and sped up into a jog- sweat almost immediately oozing out of his body everywhere. Oh well, such was life. He held his focusing staff in one hand and used the other to unbutton his robe and let some air in. It would be sweaty work this afternoon.

A short distance towards the sound, the land dipped and revealed a wide, sunken valley full of old ruins: ancient stone pillars and the remnants of buildings with a blockish design. Merek was pretty sure they were from the golden age of amalj’aa society- from long ago before internal division tore them apart and reduced them to the primitive lifestyle they knew today. But regardless of who used to live in this place, the Amalj’aa were all over them right now. Large groups of the black-skinned reptile men were churning around each other, and at this distance, Merek could easily make out the spears, bows, and magical spells of warfare. Some kind of tribal conflict was being resolved, and square in the middle was an overturned Ul’dah wagon. Three smaller humanoids huddled next to it. Lalafells. And they didn’t seem injured, but Merek was much too far away to tell something like that. He hurried down the slope towards the battlefield. 

The sounds of battle grew louder as Merek approached the ruins. So did the sound of his blood pumping past his own ears. He felt the familiar shivery feeling of adrenaline and anxiety. His mouth was dry, and he contemplating pausing briefly for a drink, and to delay his entrance the combat by a few precious seconds. No. Time was of the essence! He overpowered that selfish desire and pressed forward. Then a towering black-skinned reptile man stepped before him. 

Its broad, barrel-chest was supported by a thick, long backbone that ran from a nigh neckless crocodilian head to a long, thick tail. Tiny red eyes glared out at Merek as he came to a quick stop at the sight of the imposing figure. Merek held up his staff and a spell was on the edge of his cognition, but he paused. This amalj’aa was dressed in blue. That was unusual. Red loincloths were the only color Merek ever saw. And while this particular specimen held one of the giant polearms common amongst amalj’aa. It was not pointing it at Merek. That was very unusual.

“Stay back, white robe,” it said with a voice like gravel being shaken inside a rubber ball. “This not concern your people. Amalj’aa have amalj’aa to kill.”

A non-hostile amalj’aa? Merek’s mouth fell open. His eyes traveled past this individual’s impressive bulk and saw more blue-dressed beastmen in direct conflict with the red-dressed ones. Blood was flowing. Individuals were screaming and falling in pain and death. If Merek wasn’t wanted in the middle of that, he was more than okay with that. But that wasn’t why he was here.

“I’m here for the wagon!”

“My people not harm those small ones!”

“What about the ones you are killing?!’

“I speak not for them!”

“Then I will see to the wagon!”

Merek continued on his march towards the wagon. The blue amalj’aa watched him with an expression that… Merek couldn’t decipher. How the hell was he supposed to know what facial expressions meant amongst these reptiles? But the creature let him pass, and so Merek skirted around the busiest parts of the battling amalj’aa- trying to stay closer to the apparently non-hostile blue ones. He leapt over some corpses here and there and managed to reach the overturned wagon without even getting a bloodstain on his robes.

The three lalafells turned their child-like heads towards him, giant eyes wider than normal with fear. 

“Are any of you injured?!”

Three sets of wide-eyes stared at Merek. Were they just stunned by panic or did they not understand him? Lalafells came from all over and sometimes lived in rather exclusive communities. 

“Hey! Do you speak common?”

“Y-yes!” said one of them.

“Are any of you hurt?”

“No!”

That was a surprise, but a welcome one. Merek looked at the raging battle around them. The Amalj’aa were pretty occupied with each other. Perhaps he and the lalafell could wait this thing out and just walk back to Little Ala Mhigo with nothing but a story to tell. 

Something punched the back of Merek’s knee with abrupt force. His leg bent and Merek lost his balance and collapsed. Then pain began running hot up through his leg to his mind, searing into his consciousness with agonizing insistence. Unable to stand, Merek rolled over awkwardly and looked at his leg- a large arrow was sticking into the back of it, blood running along the shaft to drip onto the sandy ground. 

Fuck! 

Merek rolled himself around again, trying to find the attacker. His teeth ground against the waves of agony in his knee every time he even jostled his wounded limb. The shot had come from behind him and above. 

“Where is he?” he shouted at the lalafells, his voice notably desperate, even to himself. They must have seen the archer, but they were staring at him, wide-eyed and useless; panic obviously having overwhelmed them once more. 

“Fuck!” Merek shouted, more at the situation than the out-of-their-depth merchants. But fuck! This was bad!

Shoonk!

Merek’s head spun. A vibrating arrow shaft was sticking out of the dirt near his head. He looked along its length and spotted his attacker. It was a red-clothed amalj’aa standing up on some ruins a goodly distance away. The fucker was sniping at an easy target while his companions were dying all around him. The beastman was notching the third arrow. Merek felt those red, beady eyes zeroing in on his chest. There was no cover for him, and he couldn’t walk. Only one thing to do.

Merek lifted his staff, pointing at the distant archer. Oh, crystals of the earth- oh, crystals of the earth- oh, crystals of the earth. The well-worn litany roving a cognitive rutt in Merek’s mind. Calming him. Focusing him. Gathering his magical forces into shape, form, and intent. 

Stone!

He felt the gathered energy leave his soul, and he watched the stones and rocks of his immediate surroundings leap from the ground of their own volition, gather into a ball, then shoot through the air at the aiming archer. The stone slammed into the archer’s face, snapping the black head back. Its body went limp and it fell from Merek’s sight.

Merek sighed in relief- then hissed in pain as the agony of his arrow wound came flooding back to him. He needed to take care of this before another red-clothed amalj’aa decided a wounded target was more fun. Merek righted himself, grinding his teeth in the effort. He reached down and firmly grasped the arrow, his hand slick from his own flowing blood.

“Gah!” he gasped, the pain from even that little bit of tension on the shaft surprising him. He sucked in a beath. Fuck… fuck… … FUCK! He ripped the arrow out with a powerful jerk.

Merek’s world went white. Then grey, wriggling clouds traveled from the center of his vision to the periphery, re-revealing the world around him as he sucked in ragged breaths. Blood was flowing thick and slick from his leg, he could feel it in his robes. With shaky hands, he pressed tentatively on the ragged hole he’d just ripped in himself.

Water was leaking from him. People needed water to live. All were water. Oh, crystals of water. Oh, crystals of water. The pain faded into the background of Merek’s consciousness once again. 

Cure!

Intense warmth shot into Merek’s leg and then his wound became unbearably itchy. Merek was used to the feeling. His body was knitting itself back together from the healing magics. In but a second, the sounds of battle were loud again in his ears. His mind and body were free of pain. And his leg was as healthy as ever.

One crisis behind him, Merek could once again consider the whole waiting-out-the-battle thing. Then the heavy tread of footsteps gained his attention. He turned his head. Another red-clad amalj’aa was striding toward Merek’s fallen form. A menacing polearm already raised to strike. Merek scrambled to get his feet under him, but it was already too late. His world slowed. His feet slipped in the sand. The speartip filled his existence as it plunged towards his face. 

The sun was briefly eclipsed by a large black shape. Merek had the faint sense of scales, claws, and a long tail as something soared past his head, ruffling his hair. A fleshy sound. A gurgle. And the shadow was past Merek, revealing the red-clad amalj’aa clutching at its throat. Dark blood flowed through black fingers as the beastman collapsed into the dirt.

Merek’s eyes followed the movement of the shadow. It was some kind of giant lizard. Not a lizardman. But an honest lizard, as big as a small horse. And riding atop it was a… miquot’te woman. A stunningly militant miqot’te woman. Her body was scantily covered with a steel plate across both breasts and groin. Her skin was brown and rich like the sand of Thalanan. Her white-furred tail was thick with battle fury, and it darted left and right as she stared down her enemies from behind a menacing wooden mask. 

“Attacking when the enemy is down?” Her voice was melodious and fierce. She raised a sinewy arm, holding a challenging blade before her. Her lithe body secure on her excited lizard horse. “Your ancestors would turn in their graves!” 

Her words raised cheers of agreement from the blue-clad amalj’aa, and cries of derision from the red. But the red-clad warriors were numbering fewer and fewer. The miqot’te woman artfully dodged an arrow, then kicked her lizard mount forward, charging back into the fray.

Merek realized his mouth was gaping open. He closed it with a click of teeth. His tongue swept out a thin layer of dust that had blown in while he was looking at the female warrior. A miqot’te woman… fighting alongside the amalj’aa? What the hell was going on in Thalanan? Merek regained his feet. Testing his healthy leg but still watching after the aggressive cat girl. She was once again slicing the neck of an enemy in the distance. But Merek wasn’t complaining about the oddness. The woman just saved his life, after all. Who was she?

“Your participation is noted adventurer,” growled a voice from behind Merek. 

He spun to find yet another amalj’aa behind him. But this one he recognized. It was the first one who had warned him away from the battle.

“You struck down our foe, so you are our friend. I am Hamujj Gah. And we are the Brotherhood of Ash.” Hamujj lifted his spear again to point out along the horizon. “Join us in our camp to the south and be welcome. Against the mountain. We will clean up this place and return there. For now, take your small folk and go.” The amalj’aa turned and followed his blue-clad comrades, pursuing the retreating reds... and the blood-thirsty miquot’te. 

Merek watched Hamujj walk away, then looked down for his hat. It was dusty and trampled, but functional. A beast tribe that hunted its own kind? Protected the people of the sultanate? Had a non-amal’ja member? It was a curiosity of definitive allure. 

He turned to the lalafells. They were still huddled by their wagon. He would need to get them moving and out of here, like the creature Hamujj Gah said. But after that… the mountain to the south? He let his eyes wander the horizon in the direction that the beastman’s spear had indicated. Merek wanted to know more. And see that miqot’te woman again. 

To thank her for saving his life, anyway. That’s all. 

It was only polite.


	2. Chapter 2

_If one seems available, I encourage you to pursue the possibility of a final solution to Ifrit._

Minfilia’s words echoed in Merek’s mind as he once again set out from Little Ala Mhigo. Heading east for the second time in two days. That was not a command he’d expected to hear in that soft voice of hers. But a lot of things happened that Merek never expected. Foremost being his aptitude with magic as a child. Second, being chosen by a crystalline deity as some sort of avatar. Third, joining a guild of god-slayers called the Scions. And finally, being told that a viable way to destroy a god was to cull their followers.

Into Thanalan, Merek had gone culling with the other Scions. The amalj’aa were brutes. Less than human. Uncivilized. Easy to kill. And a deadly pest to the citizens of Ul’dah. Real people. People that deserved to live more, apparently. And so Merek and the others went into the sands a’killing the reptile men.

Ifirt was summoned anyway. Merek helped kill it, too. But Ifrit can come back. Like a weed with a deep root. So now here he was, riding back out into the sands, to see if he could aid one group of amalj’aa slaughter another. To rip the very root of a species out of this land… in the name of peace.

Death was pretty fucking peaceful.

Merek frowned as the legs of his chocobo chewed up the landscape, pushing civilization (as he knew it) further and further behind him. He didn’t like the command. He didn’t like the mission. But that was an emotional response. Merek’s logical mind warred against those emotions, though he couldn’t shake the dual perspectives he saw.

Perhaps this was what all his book reading got him: perspective. And too damn much of it. Merek liked to read. He liked to waste his breath on pointless debates and had the most fun when those debates degenerated into useless squabbles over semantics. But alas- no self-indulgent, self-important life for him. He’d been content to be entirely useless to society outside of Stillglade Fane, learning things that only mattered to people also learning about the same bullshit. But the giant crystal pointed her finger at him and told him to GET and so Merek GOT.

Got a fucking endless to-do list from all sorts of people.

And apparently, Merek was pretty good at controlling rocks and making them break things. Weapons. Heads. Other rocks. And he was also pretty good at putting bodies back together.

But right… perspective. Well, Merek had that for both sides. He didn’t like the idea of going out and exterminating vermin en masse, much less an intelligent cultural people like the amalj'aa. It felt wrong. But then his logical side would come in to play. It would weigh the realities of present-day Eozera. He would recall his own memory of the flame god.

He’d stood in front of Ifrit as the goat-horned bastard fell into this world and immediately set about claiming every non-amalj’aa around him. Permanently and irrevocably enslaving them: mind, body, and soul. And the hard truth was, if Ifrit got real loose, got on a real rampage, well- that was gonna be the end for a lot of people. Thousands. Thousands of thousands. If not more.

That was why Minfilia’s soft voice sent Merek back out into the dunes to find a “final solution.” Call it what you want: preventative action, slaying enemies,... culling, ethnic cleansing, genocide... But a few hundred dead savages weighed a lot less than a few hundred thousand of everything else. Literally and figuratively.

Merek sighed to himself. He hoped it wouldn’t all be death and blood. There were these blue-clad amalj’aa. The non-hostile ones. The Brotherhood of Ash. Or at least that was what the talkative one had called them. And they had a miqot’te woman amongst their number. And as an equal warrior as far as Merek could tell. That was unusual in the extreme. The amalj’aa had a reputation of being rather... rapey. An experience that the smaller race females, and males, generally didn’t survive. Well, when they were not feeding people to Ifrit’s influence, anyway.

If Ifrit could be stopped by slaughtering his worshippers, then the replacement of the devout amalj’aa with this new rebel tribe could be a… comfortable solution. The amalj’aa would not cease to exist… they would be… cultivated. The trees which produced the sour fruit of Ifrit could be cut down, and the preferable trees planted in their place.

Yeah… that sounded a little better to the mind, didn’t it?

Merek reigned in his mount at the edge of a shallow plateau. The battlefield he’d stumbled upon yesterday was north of here, but the talkative amalj’aa, Hamujj Gah, pointed south when he told Merek of his home. This high ground should give Merek a good command of the landscape.

This area of Thanalan was an ancient river canyon, carved over the eras by sluggish and intermittent waters. Spring runoff from the northern mountains of Mor Rhouk would send a raging torrent through the deepest parts of the canyon, setting off the yearly life-cycle of the region. It was a peaceful time, relatively speaking. But that was months ago, and now the riverbed was sand and dust. It would take a goodly summer storm in the north to bring water this far south, and those were rare. More likely the region would need to withstand months without the river’s flow. And survive off water stored during the spring.

If Merek lived here, he would live near the river. But Merek was certainly not amalj’aa, and they were too numerous to all live near the river. Not to mention that the military forces of Ul’dah were near the river, as equally interested in the water as the amalj’aa. So for a hostile tribe of Ifrit-faithful, the river was a place for expeditions, not settlement.

However… a tribe of amalj’aa who was not aggressive to Ul’dah citizens? The Brass Blades were stretched thin and notoriously corrupt, so if no rich merchant or other political force was breathing down their necks, they wouldn’t go out of their way to put themselves in danger. Which Merek thought would mean an unobtrusive tribe could live pretty close to a settlement and not draw any attention to itself.

So Merek’s green eyes surveyed the rocky canyon sides, traced the old ruins of some forgotten civilization, and spotted what he’d expected to see… smoke from campfires. Upon closer inspection, he could also make out the clear signs of intelligent modification of the ruins down there. Constructed barriers. Well-disguised scrap-metal huts. An amalj’aa settlement to be sure. And basically within spitting distance of Little Ala Mhigo. That had to be them, the Brotherhood of Ash. Merek tapped his heels into his chocobo’s sides and the bird started down the hill with a soft quark.

* * *

“Stop! Who comes?!”

Merek reigned in his chocobo at the bottom of some ruined stone steps. A blue-clad amalj’aa stood at the top of the stairway, pointing one of the signature amalj’aa halberds in Merek’s direction. The surprisingly well-made polearm was at least 25 feet long. Say what you wanted about these lizardmen, but they knew how to make weapons.

“I am Merek Palpeltesh! A Scion! I fought alongside your people yesterday in the battle with the red ones!”

The amalj’aa’s head cocked sideways. Merek didn’t know how to read the expressions of these people, but he assumed that was confusion or consideration. It was a start. Not getting impaled on a giant spear was always a good start.

“What?” said the amalj’aa.

Well.. almost a start.

“I am friend of Hamujj Gah!”

The guard’s head jerked upright. He lifted his spear to no longer point at Merek. He seemed to be thinking.

Merek took that as a sign that he could cautiously approach. He dismounted and then walked up the stone stairwell at a slow pace. The guard’s spear remained raised, so that was good.

As he ascended, the Brotherhood of Ash camp came into Merek’s field of vision. It was a mixture of scrap-metal huts and what apparently was a cave system dug into the side of the canyon- perhaps partly using the old ruins, too.

In a clear space near what seemed the front gate to the settlement, a riding lizard was being groomed by the scantily-clad miqot’te woman. Just under the beast’s long neck, Merek could see her lithe, tan legs, bare up until the groin area, and that only covered by what Merek would hesitate to call a loincloth. Loincloths tended to be more modest.

The woman’s face appeared from behind the riding lizard, her expression one of calm enjoyment as she brushed the animal. Her features rounded down gently to end at a decisive chin. Her nose was small but sharp. And her eyes, even at this distance, seemed a soft pink hue. And then they flickered over to Merek and met his gaze.

Her expression of calm transformed into one of surprise, her white cat ears standing straight. They then folded back on her head as her expression turned to one of obvious anger, and she ducked back down behind the riding lizard and out of Merek’s view. Then, she popped back up wearing the wooden battle-mask Merek saw her wearing yesterday.

“White robe!” she yelled in challenge. “Why you come here!?”

She stalked towards Merek and the confused guard, her ears back, her white tail twitching to and fro in clear agitation. Her upper torso was as bare and lithe as her legs. A taunt, tight core extended up to her breasts, the only part of her upper body covered by a metallic breastplate. And to that was attached some shoulderpads.

The guard turned towards her approach. “He say he wanted by chieftain, cat-Gah.”

Loohn Gah froze. Her ears again standing on end and her tail going up, out, and bristling. “Don’t use my nickname in front of him, you rakking moogle!”

“Uh-” said the guard. Then he said “Oof,” as Loohn Gah drove a fist into his side.

It didn’t seem to hurt the guard much, such was the difference in their body mass: the amal’jaa towered nearly twice the size of both Merek and Loohn Gah, but apparently, the message was received. The guard took a step back and bowed his head in chagrin.

Merek stood silent, not wanting to get in the middle of… whatever this was.

Loonh Gah turned to him, visibly forcing her hair and tail under control. “My father wanted you?”

Her father? The amalj’aa leader?

“He told me to come here.”

She looked at him silently for a moment, her hand resting idly on the hilt of her sword. Then she said: “Come, then, white robe. I take you to him.”

She turned and walked into the core of the settlement, and with a glance at the now passive guard, Merek followed her. Loohn Gah’s path through the village went unremarked, but heads everywhere turned as Merek passed. Adult amalj’aa (female and male, Merek presumed, he couldn’t tell the difference) stood and broadened their chests as he passed. Children, who were almost all as large as Merek, stared with mouths gaping open.

Loohn Gah lead him to a shallow hollow carved in the wall of the canyon. A large amal’jaa was sitting on a raised divan, attentive to several others sitting below him. It appeared to be some sort of meeting.

The head amalj’aa looked towards them as they approached. “Kah! The adventurer!,” he said, and beckoned them forward with a large hand.

The four sitting amal’jaa turned to look at Merek and Loohn’s arrival, then they rotated their bodies to face them. Now they all sat looking at Merek like some kind of tribal tribunal, which, if these were the subordinate leaders, it was.

“You come sooner than expected, adventurer. I, Hamujj Gah, again thank for your aid in battle yester-sun.”

“What aid?” said Loohn Gah, “I saved his fool life! Our warriors saved little folk from the Reds! He should thank We of Ash!”

Hamujj Gah shot to his feet. “Close mouth!” he bellowed.

Loohn Gah flinched, her ears flattening themselves forward and tail sinking low.

“You not speak here, warrior! You listen!”

Loohn Gah held her submissive pose and remained silent. Hamujj Gah sank back to his sitting position, seemingly satisfied.

“Forgive my daughter,” he said, “She not see the archer you kill. Nor our warriors you healed in the backlines. She always in front. Ahead of troops. And ahead of her thinking!”

Loohn Gah flinched again.

Hamujj Gah’s features seemed to grow less tense as he turned his attention back to Merek. “Why come here? Seek you repayment for your aid?”

The eyes of all amalj’aa, and of Loohn Gah, focused on Merek. It would be wise to choose his words carefully. They were all using the common tongue for his benefit, but their command of it seemed likely to be limited; they were fluent, though roughly so.

“I come for a favor, yes.”

The bodies of all amal’jaa tensed, except for Hamujj Gah, who seemed more subtle than his fellows. He was the leader, after all. But, whoops! That must have been the wrong phrasing. Merek needed to soften that.

“The favor of firm alliance with your people.”

Everyone relaxed.

Merek continued: “Your enemies are mine. I seek to prevent Ifrit from returning. I do not wish to slay him again.”

Loohn Gah let out a scoffing laugh, but a quick glare from Hamujj Gah silenced her.

“I know that Reds summon Ifrit,” said Hamujj Gah, “And the flame god was slain. You did this?”

“I was among those who made it so.”

The amalj’aa were silent.

“Ifrit is the god of our people,” said Hamujj Gah, “But he should be summoned to keep us living. The Reds live only to summon. They raid, rape, destroy, all for that. Just for that. It is wrong. They are backwards. We of Ash do not live that way.”

“So I see.”

“So what you want from alliance?” said one of the seated amalj’aa.

Hamujj Gah didn’t object, so this seated one must be higher ranking than Loohn Gah. He was allowed to speak here.

“I want to go with you and fight the Reds,” said Merek, “I want to end their ability to summon Ifrit.”

The amalj’aa regarded him silently.

Then Hamujj Gah laughed, a deep belly laugh. “I offer you favor for your aid, and all you want is chance to kill more of our enemies?” He laughed again. “You best ally I ever know. I accept. And your timing good. We know of Red encampment to south. In our lands. I am sending warband to slay them. You may go, too. You as well, my daughter. Bring me many Reds tails for our feasting!”

“Yes, chieftain!” said Loohn Gah.

The seated amalj’aa who spoke earlier stood and walked towards them. “I am Fibubb Gah, eldest son. I lead this warband. You two follow me. Listen to my words.”

That was clear enough to Merek. He fell into step with Fibubb Gah, and they walked back through the village, presumably on the way to the staging area. Well, Merek wanted to become involved in this conflict, and he’d done so. A bit too easily for his liking.

A day of rest would have been quite nice...

* * *

Merek found himself atop his chocobo and galloping over the sandy hard lands of Thanalan behind a jogging warband of blue-clad amalj’aa. They were circling around the target Red camp. As far as Merek understood it, it was to keep the dust and sand from their movements downwind, and so keep their approach secret from their enemies.

Merek’s chocobo suddenly squawked and it edged sideways. He fought the reigns to keep it under control. The source of its distress was Loohn Gah riding up beside him on her riding lizard, the carnivorous beast worrying his own mount.

“So, you now We of Ash, priest?” said Loohn.

Before he could stop himself, Merek said: “Actually, I’m not a priest.”

Damn. What did it matter what she called him? Why did he say such pedantic things?

“You wear white dress like priest. You makes healing like priest. You priest.”

Merek sighed. He really didn’t have a response to that.

“Why really come back here, priest?” said Loohn.

“I was telling the truth: To stop the return of Ifrit.”

“You slay the god of flame already, so you say!”

“He tends to come back.”

“So, now? You kill amalj’aa till too few to summon flame god?”

Merek glanced at Loohn. Her mask was… well- a mask. He couldn’t see her expression. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good! You kill. I kill. We kill them all! Male. Female. Hatchling. Till only We of Ash remain!”

Merek grimaced at the thought. Yes, the Scions knew no other way to stop an enthralled beastman than to kill them, but to have it put so bluntly…

“No, only enough to-”

“Never enough!” said Loohn. “You come from land of food and water. Here we have sand and dust. Little food. Many amalj’aa! Ifrit come. Ifrit go. But amalj’aa always here. Too many amalj’aa! Too little food!”

She turned from him and tapped the flat of her sword against the rump of her riding lizard. It snarled and leapt forward, accelerating up the line of Ash warriors.

“So we kill the red ones!” she yelled as she rode past the jogging amalj’aa warriors. “We cut them! We stab them! We clump the sand with their blood! Till all this place is for We of Ash!”

“KAH!” shouted the warband.

Merek silded his chocobo to the side of the warrior train, getting himself out of the thickening cloud of dust stirred up by the new encouragement of the Ash warriors. Was this what the peace of Eozoria required? Save the entire realm with a bit of local ethnic genocide?

To stop Ifrit from laying waste to the land? Burning all before him?

So be it.


End file.
